Unwillingly he drew a little nearer, and became one of the group of loiterers about the entrance. When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. Maybe it’s his loss. But remember my warning, and play the game!" Spurlock closed his eyes again. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory.
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